


Halcyon

by anotetofollow



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fighter's Guild, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 20:59:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6873076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotetofollow/pseuds/anotetofollow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompted drabble. The new Master organises a celebration following her defeat of the Blackwood Company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halcyon

It was the first true day of summer. Second Seed’s warm rain had faded, giving way to clear skies and bright sunshine. It was sheer luck that the Master had chosen such a glorious day for the celebrations, but from the way everyone was carrying on one could have been forgiven for thinking she had banished the clouds herself.

Oreyn was sitting on the porch of the Chorrol guildhall, taking advantage of the shade. A Journeyman from the Anvil chapter moved to take a seat next to him, and he reluctantly shifted his chair to make room.

The barracks were heaving. After their defeat of the Blackwood Company the new Master had announced that she would be hosting a tourney to celebrate their triumph. Oreyn had thought it a rather frivolous waste of time and expense, and had told her so, but she insisted that the men needed a boost in morale.

Begrudgingly he had to admit that she was right. Guild members from across Cyrodiil were in attendance, and they were more spirited than he had seen them in months. There were contests for hand-fighting and archery, tug-of-war games, and more food and drink than they could possibly hope to consume in an evening. There was a festival atmosphere in the air, and not even Oreyn himself could resist being cheered by it.

The Master herself stood at the centre of it all. She had traded her armour for simple training leathers, and although she had exempted herself from participating in any contests she was still happily sparring with any recruit who wished to test their mettle. As Oreyn watched she swiftly trounced a wet-ear from Skingrad, laughing throatily as she helped the stunned lad back to his feet.

Catching Oreyn’s eye, she sheathed her sword and walked over to where he sat, pulling up a chair beside him.

“Not joining in with the festivities?” she asked, brushing a lock of russet hair back from her face.

“I think I’ll leave the showboating to you if it’s all the same,” he replied.

The new Master scrunched up her face in a look of mock outrage. “Do you want me to expel you from the Guild, Oreyn?” She had made this threat at least once a day since she had been named his superior, and still seemed to find it amusing.

He rolled his eyes at her. “Thovasi, you wouldn’t dare.”

“True.” She gave him an odd look. Oreyn could guess why. He was one of the few people- perhaps the only person, in fact- who knew that the name she went by was an alias. He had called her by her true name, once, but he had thought her too delirious to remember. Perhaps he was wrong.

“You’d better get back to your adoring public,” he said, nodding to the crowd milling around the grounds of the barracks.

“Not yet,” she shook her head. “This was your victory as much as mine. You should enjoy today too.”

The Master found an almost-full bottle of Surille Brothers on the table and poured them both a generous serving. She lifted her cup, and Oreyn mimicked her motion.

“A toast,” she said. “To the triumph of the Fighter’s Guild.”

“To you.”

“To _us_ ,” she corrected gently.

They both drank, long and deep. The wine was light and floral, and pleasantly cool in the heat of the day. For a long time they sat in companionable silence, looking out at their guildmates as they laughed and brawled in the evening sunshine. Oreyn had to admit that he felt a certain pride then. They had achieved a lot together. That much was true.

Eventually someone called over for the Master, asking if she would make up the numbers for some violent-sounding sport from Skyrim. She agreed, and drained her glass before standing.

“Duty calls. I’ll see you later.”

She took his hand in hers and squeezed it warmly before departing. By the time Oreyn had registered the gesture she was already gone.

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the balmy warmth of the air and the sound of his guildmates’ voices. The Master was right. This was partly his victory, too.


End file.
